


And Now You Know

by Bunnywest



Series: Keep Calm and Read Steter [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Good Peter Hale, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter and Stiles have been dating for three months now, and Peter still hasn't told Stiles he's a werewolf.That's all about to change.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Keep Calm and Read Steter [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679953
Comments: 76
Kudos: 1660





	And Now You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! This is...completely different to the fic I set out to write, and I don't even care, because I managed to write something! I thought writing a book broke me, but it turns out I was just tired and had a head cold.  
> This is a follow up to [Dial B for Braincell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391319)

Peter’s so very, very tired.

It’s been a hell of a day, and he was meant to be meeting Stiles for dinner, but he’s been up to his neck in depositions and case notes for about three days now, and he finally found what he was looking for this afternoon, so then it was a mad scramble to get all his ducks in a row.

It was after nine when he left the office - dinner was meant to be at seven.

He knew Stiles would understand, texted him at six when it looked like he wouldn’t be able to make it and got back a reply saying _Sure, the case comes first,_ but still. Peter resents the loss of a chance to sit down with the man who’s fast becoming his favorite human. It’s been over a week since they saw each other, and Peter’s feeling the absence keenly.

It’s not the sex. Or rather, it’s not _just_ the sex, although lord knows that’s scorching hot. It’s Stiles running his fingers down the back of Peter’s neck, Stiles laughing at his jokes, Stiles telling him meandering but engaging stories about what he and his friends did back in high school. It’s Stiles falling asleep and drooling on Peter’s shoulder halfway through watching a movie because his sleep patterns are screwed again but he wanted to come over anyway.

It’s just - _Stiles_.

Peter has to take a moment to think about that.

He sits behind the steering wheel and contemplates how this all started with a wrong number, and now somehow he and Stiles are a thing. It happened almost without them noticing - certainly, nobody sat down and asked anyone to go steady. They just fit together, and one date became two became three became texting and talking almost daily, rolling into bed regularly, and becoming PeterandStiles.

Peter lets out a sigh. He wonders if they’ll still get to be PeterandStiles if he tells Stiles his family secret. He’s been hesitant, because it’s not something he shares with any casual fling, but he doesn’t think this counts as casual, not anymore. He’s going to have to tell Stiles, he decides. Next week. Or after this case is done. Or next month.

Or never.

No, he chides himself. Not never. The truth is, he thinks he might actually have a future with this smartass little punk, but that can’t happen unless he’s honest about who and what he is.

He’s a werewolf, and that’s not going to change anytime soon, but the last thing he wants is to slip up and reveal his other self before he’s ready and frighten Stiles away. Truth be told, he’s been keeping his distance this last week partly because he’s been busy, but partly because the full moon’s close, he's tired, and he’s aware his control’s not all it could be at the moment.

The wolf has been grumbling, nudging at him, impatient to share, and Peter knows that it’s not a matter of _if_ he tells Stiles, but _when_. The real question is what Stiles will do with that information.

He might be fine with it, or he might run screaming.

Peter’s counting on the former, but he has a plan for the latter. He doesn’t _like_ sinking his claws into someone’s neck, messing with their memory and rearranging their mind - hates it in fact - but he’ll do it if he has to, to keep himself safe.

He hopes to god he doesn’t have to.

* * *

When Peter finally gets home, he stands outside his door and cocks his head listening, and he can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his face when he hears a familiar heartbeat, slowed as if in sleep.

Stiles is here.

He slides his key in the lock and swings the door open silently, making his way inside. He finds Stiles on the couch, head back, eyes closed, mouth open, dozing. The table’s been set, and Peter sees that a bottle of his favorite red has been opened and left to breathe. There’s a charcuterie platter waiting as well.

Maybe Stiles has missed him as much as he missed Stiles, he muses, and the thought perks him up a little, despite his fatigue. Peter takes a photo of Stiles in all his inelegant glory so he can tease him with it later, and then he crouches down in front of him and wakes him with a soft kiss to the temple.

Stiles, predictably, flails, and Peter ducks back to avoid the windmilling arms in a move born of experience. “Do we really think breaking into a lawyer’s house is the best idea?” he says by way of greeting.

“S’not breaking in,” Stiles yawns out, stretching his arms up and then dropping his head on Peter’s shoulder and nuzzling in. “You gave me the spare key.”

“For emergencies, sweetheart.”

Stiles lifts his head, more alert now, and his face splits in a trademark grin. “I missed you. That’s an emergency.” He leans in and steals a kiss before saying, “plus I know this case is kicking your ass, and someone has to look after you. I figured I’d make dinner.” He stands then, and tugs Peter up with him.

Peter glances at the clock - it’s after ten. “How long have you been waiting?”

Stiles shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I figured you’d be home eventually.” He yawns once more and rolls his neck and shoulders. “Come on, let's get you out of those work clothes.” Deft hands tug at Peter’s tie, and then his jacket’s being taken off him and his shirt unbuttoned, and cool hands trace over his ribs before Stiles pats his ass and gives him a gentle shove in the direction of the bedroom. “Go on, get changed and I’ll get dinner ready.”

Peter thinks he might have preferred to stay where he was and have Stiles run his hands over him some more, but Stiles obviously has a plan, so he obediently goes and changes into a soft pair of sweats and a worn tee. With the removal of his work clothes Peter can feel the tension easing out of him, just like it always does once he puts aside the trappings of his job.

He doesn’t have to be on guard, doesn’t have to be whip-smart. He can relax.

The smells wafting through the house are divine, and when Peter emerges from his room he finds a plate with slow roasted chicken and vegetables and a creamy mushroom sauce waiting for him, along with the glass of red. It’s his favorite.

Peter hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he began to eat, and they’re mostly silent as he devours his meal in record time. Stiles takes his plate and gives him a second serving. “Skipped lunch, huh?”

“No time. We had a break in the case,” Peter says, looking up to find Stiles watching him intently.

“Really? I thought you said it was a lost cause?”

“No,” Peter corrects, “I said for most lawyers it would be a lost cause. But I’m not most lawyers.” He doesn’t mention that he knew the prosecution's key witness was lying mostly by the way their heartrate had tripled and they’d reeked of stress, that that’s how he’d known to go digging.

He’ll be able share tidbits like that _after_ he tells Stiles about his special skill set - if they’re still talking.

Stiles, meanwhile is beaming. “So you’ll win?”

Peter nods. “Looks like.” He pushes his plate away, full, and stands, opening his arms in invitation. “Come here, sweetheart. I haven’t seen you in a week and I don’t want to talk about work. I have other things in mind.” His earlier tiredness has been abated by a decent meal, and having Stiles within reach has transformed it into a desire to touch and scent and curl up with his boy.

Stiles steps into his embrace eagerly. “Same. I missed you too.”

Peter wraps his arms around Stiles, leans in slightly, and closes his eyes and loses himself - his wolf - to the warmth of human contact. Stiles’s hands slide up the back of his shirt and rest there, warmer now than earlier, and they stand there silently, rocking gently, almost like a slow dance without music.

Peter sighs with contentment. Stiles is clever and funny and gorgeous, but more than that, he’s considerate, loyal, and completely mesmerizing, and Peter would very much like to keep him. A soft rumbling noise comes unbidden from his chest at the thought of making Stiles his, a rich, resonant sound, and it goes on for long seconds before Stiles pulls back in surprise. “Dude, were you...growling just then?”

He was, Peter realizes with a start. He’s tired, and his guard was down, and he let the wolf surface for just a second, and it was a second too long, because now he's ended up making happy wolf noises.

Fuck.

He wasn’t going to do this, not yet. He was going to coax Stiles into bed where they could maybe trade lazy handjobs, and then Peter was going to ask Stiles to stay over, and then maybe sometime next week or the week after or the one after that, he was going to sit Stiles down and tell him. But Peter was definitely making growling sounds just now, inhuman sounds, and Stiles is staring at him, the smile dropping from his face. “Peter?”

Peter clears his throat. “We need to talk. Not like that,” he hastens to add when Stiles’s brow furrows, “it’s not _that_ ‘we need to talk’ talk.”.

Stiles relaxes at that. “What is it, then?”

“Have a seat.” Peter guides Stiles over to the couch and sits next to him. He wants Stiles sitting for this, and he wants him close, because if it goes badly he doesn’t want Stiles to have a chance to escape before he can claw him. It’s a sad reality of who - or what - he is. If Stiles reacts badly, he’ll leave here never remembering they met.

Peter desperately wants this to go well, so he hesitates, not sure where to start, and they sit in silence for a moment before Stiles says, “You’re not about to propose are you?”

That startles a slightly hysterical laugh out of Peter. “What?”

Stiles shrugs. “I dunno, you look all pent up, like the guys on the bachelor when they’re about to propose, that’s all.” (Peter’s spent more than one evening rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath as they watch a rose ceremony, but he secretly finds Stiles’s unapologetic love of trashy reality shows endearing. He finds a lot of things about Stiles endearing, actually.)

“No, Stiles,” Peter says, savoring the name on his tongue, wondering how many more times he’ll get to say it. “Not a proposal. But I am nervous, I won’t lie.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Okay?” His fingertips drum in a nervous pattern against his thigh while Peter decides how to proceed, and the tension stretches between them. Peter opens and closes his mouth, but the words don’t want to come, and he’s just debating whether it would be cowardly to text his revelation from another room when Stiles huffs out a breath and says, “For fucks’ sake, Peter. Is this about you being some kind of creature?”

Peter’s mouth drops open in shock. “What?” he says weakly.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re something, I know that. I just don’t know what. But with the growly cuddles, I’m gonna say...shifter? Coyote maybe? Fox?”

“You think I’m a fox?” Peter can’t help but sound indignant. “I’ll have you know I’m a _werewolf!”_

“Knew it!” And there it is, that grin that makes Peter’s stomach flutter and his heart melt. “Fucking called it!”

Peter blinks at that, and a single word falls from his lips. “How?” Stiles slides from where he’s sitting to straddle Peter and takes his face in his hands, kissing him softly, but Peter won’t be distracted, pulling back from the kiss. _“How?”_ he demands, low, urgent. He needs to know if he’s unwittingly exposed himself.

Stiles must sense his unease, doesn’t beat around the bush. “The town I come from has a fair sized shifter population. It’s an open secret, kinda, and my dad’s the sheriff, so he taught me to spot the signs. I knew the third time we went out. I just didn’t care.”

He leans in for another kiss and Peter lets him this time, even as his brain reels and scrambles to catch up. Stiles _knew_. Stiles knew he was something all along, and he didn’t care, still doesn’t, if the way his tongue is probing at the seam of Peter's mouth is anything to go by. Peter opens up for the kiss, lets it deepen, relishing the soft press of plush lips against his, the warm tongue sliding inside, all the while reveling in the relief that's washing over him.

“You really don’t mind?” Peter asks when their mouths part, needing to be sure.

“Nope. Now, are you gonna carry me to bed and fuck me, show me all that werewolf strength you’ve been hiding?” Stiles says, grinning.

Peter has no intention of turning down an offer like that - Stiles’s casual acceptance of Peter's wolf is a heady aphrodisiac, and any lingering traces of tiredness are chased away by a sudden, desperate need to get his hands all over his boy - because Stiles is his, now.

* * *

“Were you ever planning on telling me that you knew?” Peter asks later. They’re sprawled across the bed, and Stiles is still quietly panting from the orgasm Peter just fucked out of him.

Stiles rolls over and props himself up on one elbow, observing Peter keenly. His lips are pink-plush and kiss-swollen, and his hair’s a fresh-fucked riot. He’s never looked better, but that could just be Peter's post-orgasmic haze talking. “Maybe. But I wanted to see if you’d trust me enough to tell me. Figured that’s how I'd know if this was going somewhere.”

Peter gives him a lazy smile. “And now you know.”

Stiles’s grin turns smug. “And now I know.” He pokes Peter gently in the chest with a fingertip. “You care about me.”

Peter doesn’t bother to deny it, all his defenses laid waste. “More than you know, sweetheart.”

Stiles sighs happily, then drags himself into a sitting position, sheets puddling around his waist. “Show me your wolf?”

Peter hesitates. “You’re sure? It’s…” he doesn’t know how to say it, so settles for, “it’s a lot to take in.”

Stiles pats his cheek softly and teases, “Aaaw, are you worried I won't think your wolf face is as pretty as your day face?”

Peter frowns, because yes, that's _exactly_ what he’s worried about. He doesn’t think his wolf is ugly, but then, he’s basing it on a lifetime of being around shifted wolves, _being_ a shifted wolf. Stiles might have a different yardstick for hideous.

 _Just do it_ , he tells himself. _Like ripping off a bandaid_. (Peter’s never used a bandaid, but he’s sure it's an apt comparison.)

“Fine, I’ll show you,” he grumbles, and _shifts_.

“Oh my god!” Stiles squeaks, and for a second Peter thinks it’s from fright, but then Stiles laughs. “You have fluffy sideburns!” A hand strokes Peter's face, and a thumb slips over the tip of a fang. “And pointy lil vampire teeth!”

“They’re fangs,” Peter protests, attempting to retain at least a little of his dignity.

He knows he’s failed when Stiles flaps a hand dismissively. “Pfft. They’re adorable.”

Really, it’s almost insulting how underwhelmed Stiles is when he runs his fingers over Peter’s transformed features, but Peter finds he really can’t be too upset, especially when Stiles declares, “It’s weird, but you’re still hot.”

The ball of worry in his gut eases and uncoils, allowing Peter’s normal self-assurance to peek through. “Glad you think so, sweetheart,” he slurs out around his fangs.

Stiles leans in and kisses the very tip of his nose. “Change back, so I can kiss you properly,“ he commands, and Peter does as he’s told. Stiles kisses him once, slow and deep, then pulls back, a soft smile on his face. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Peter takes in the sight of his boy in his bed. That future together is looking brighter by the second, and Peter makes a split second decision. “There is one other thing, sweetheart. It’s about your key.”

“Oh?” Stiles brow creases and Peter reaches out and drags a thumb gently over the worry line, smoothing it out.

“Maybe instead of being your emergency key, it could just be...your key?”

Stiles is silent for a moment. “Are you asking me to move in?”

Peter nods. “If you'd like?”

Stiles beams, and rolls them so he’s straddling Peter. “Yes,” he breathes out, and then kisses the hell out of him. Peter’s hand comes up and rests on the back of Stiles’s neck, but his claws remain firmly sheathed.

He won’t need them after all.


End file.
